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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22825915">la douleur exquise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainydogco/pseuds/Rainydogco'>Rainydogco</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Venom (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Fun fun fun!, More tags as I go, Multi, No idea where this will go, Original Character Death(s), So here's the story to my bastard son, enjoy?? maybe??, good ending I think?, half the hosts are just rude to be honest lmao, sad hours, the original symbiote oc I made for symbruary, the other half are sweet :))), this is honestly shit writing but I had to get it down because no way could I do a comic, yaoi hands, yaoi hands mc mike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:48:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22825915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainydogco/pseuds/Rainydogco</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of one (1) rogue symbiote and it's few compatible hosts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original characters x Original characters, Symbiote x host</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>la douleur exquise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(n) the heart-wrenching pain of wanting affection from someone unattainable.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sight before it was eesome, a calm tidal wave before a heavy hurricane. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t have a name, it didn’t have a solid shape or form that could be described in your everyday dictionary. It was a ferly being, a being with sharp teeth that bite and gnash. Claws, the pry open unsuspecting sockets and rip out its contents. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was receptive, consistent, and loyal to a fault. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was orphic, beautiful to some. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But inside it was terror, terror that no human had yet to survive eternity with. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ripping of tendons and ligaments, the horrors of dissolving one’s insides, only to be spilled out the cavity of blood and gore in their abdomen. The longevity of its hunger, the insanity in its pull. It was new, and fresh, and exciting at first. But like that of alcohol, slowly it pulled you deeper into the pit of tar. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The addiction of the thrill. The tug of need inside every brain it had inhabited, and the need to keep going. To keep moving, to keep running, hiding, </span>
  <em>
    <span>living.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sight before it was eesome, yes, it truly was.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To it, it was a masterpiece. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But to it’s unwilling host? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was that of </span>
  <span>repugnance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seven bodies lay on the street, police uniforms evident in shades of blue. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If it weren’t scoping out its escape route, it would gladly lean back and admire its work, but it hadn’t the time nor the pride. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Time was short of hand, and pride was non-existent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It could have been more precise, and perfect. It could have been faster, fluid, graceful even. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It could have made her </span>
  <em>
    <span>proud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had wanted to so desperately, but when the batter came up to the cage, it never is up to the bat if the ball hits, is it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s the batter</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The quality, the swing. The skill, and years of training to become just right. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> And the bat in this case, the batter was the brain of its host, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>it </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the bat. The brain that it fought with for control on a regular basis, one that caused its messy slaughter of lambs. Temporarily careless jaws had appeared from sockets of four, ripping heads off without any inner jurisdiction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All the symbiote did was eat without concentration, aimlessly battling with sharp witted words, attempting to fight back against the woman it had so desperately wanted to please. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seeking validation from an inferior race never sat well with the symbiote. The constant attitude of it being nothing but a suit to wear or an animal to be used, made it feel sick. Its lack of being, the lack of identity when it first arrived, had put its image into the garbage. The host it held close to it, the one that at first seemed to be its angel. It's its saving grace, its lighthouse to guide it home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But its host was also its disease, its plague upon self. The evident hunger, the constant turmoil it felt as its host attempted to fill the gap with ineffective substitutes. It was angry. It wanted the validation that now it never received, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taking control at first was easy, both counterparts weak from lack of good meals. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first bite was amazing, nothing but a drunk in an alleyway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>However after that, it had eaten, and it was back to the war of rights. The constant struggle of control that now waged a gap between them had re-emerged. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was when the cops came. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It all went to shit from there. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> that shit, you idiot! Do you realize they will be looking for us now? Hunting us down, trying to kill us. We killed </span>
  <em>
    <span>six</span>
  </em>
  <span> police officers for christ sake!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The woman before it was screaming, projectile spit flying its way on multiple occasions. This woman, the woman that went by the name of Rita Brown, was nothing short of horrible. At the lonely age of 23, she had many things ahead of her. Rotting away in an apartment in Nashville was hardly one of them, if it had anything to say about it. She was into boxing, traveled around for miles just to participate in punching other humans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It found the sport quite amusing, but when the symbiote became nothing short of a super-human steroid, that’s when it began to realize how much it needed to find another host. That had been two weeks ago, and no human on this planet had yet to catch its eye as something on the lines of </span>
  <em>
    <span>promising</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Let alone </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> If it wasn’t for her attitude, Rita Brown would have been a perfect match. She had brawn, sure. She had intelligence that at least could solve basic life situations, great. But when she had started to speak, after the first week of being with her, it knew it had to get out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, it had shared past memories of that it held dear. The thoughts of its past slaughters, the gate that brought it here. The planet that it had surfed in from, like a wave of pure escape. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The past memories of slaughters of civilizations, the mindless control of bodies that were not its own. The constant wondering, trying to find that perfect puzzle piece fit. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had been the one, it had thought. Before she ripped its identity away, morphed it like clay in a wretched child's hands. Turned it into a tool. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, Rita brown </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been the one. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But she could have done without a tongue. . .</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>---</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It happened fast. The screaming only riled it up, the constant berating and two sided anger was merely fueling the engine. The ticking bomb that was the symbiote was counting down subconsciously, watching as each step its host took towards its hovering figure a few feet away, waiting for her feet to cross the invisible line it had drawn. </span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had had its fun, it had gotten used to being labeled as nothing but an ‘it’. No identity, and no name. Only a voice in a humans head, and clay to morph into fists. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was done. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rita had always been fast paced, rolling with the punches and speaking her mind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She never had to, though. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The urge to snap was gerful, ticking of an imaginary clock speeding up in his body. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that was when she crossed the boundary. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It happened fast. The screaming was full of agony, the bodily fluids and bile leaked clearly onto the carpet. It hurt, but he didn’t care. She deserved it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Who could have hoped for a better removal of sight? It was fluid, and graceful. It was what she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Detaching was fast, moving under the cracks and out of the window was as easy as breathing. And hearing the screams of hysterical pain behind him only fueled his being forward. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, he quite liked the ring to that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is so bad, please someone take the computer away from my hands-</p>
<p>it was fun to write though, so I will bear the burden of bad writing and go forth with the passion to write about goopy kids</p></blockquote></div></div>
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